


One-shot Compilation

by ShelbyLPierson



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 00:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShelbyLPierson/pseuds/ShelbyLPierson
Summary: A mix of all fandom one-shots <3





	1. Almost Johnlock (Johnlock)

"That uh that thing you offered to do, that was um good," Sherlock could think straight, do to the adrenaline shooting through his body at the sight of the man he loved strapped to a bomb, and a gun trained on his chest. As he verbally fought with Moriarty, he kept making sure John was safe. Then when he seen John jump behind Moriarty telling Sherlock to run and save himself, he froze. He couldn't leave his beloved John behind to die. That wasn't something that ever would have crossed Sherlock's mind in a million years.

John shook Sherlock from his thoughts when he spoke. "I'm glad no one saw that," he still looked spooked and startled as he said the words that confused Sherlock. He

The taller man was to lost in thought on how he could get revenge on Moriarty for nearly killing John Watson that he couldn't form a coherent sentence. Only getting out a strangled, "Hmm." Moriarty had disappeared though, he was gone, neither John nor Sherlock would likely find him before he wanted them to, and to think he knew them before we knew him. That thought ticked Sherlock off slightly.

John stumbled on his words trying hard to not make a fool of himself. "You ripping my clothes off in a dark swimming pool," he finally choked out. Regardless of how much he wanted Sherlock to rip all of his clothes off he added with a slight chuckle, "People might talk." He heard Sherlock say something about an elf but he couldn't quite understand it as his sights fell upon multiple sniper lasers trained on himself. What shocked John tho, was he seen the same sight when he looked up at Sherlock. Dozens of sights on him, trained to his chest, his head. Ready to shoot at the smallest of movements.

He watched scared as Sherlock head snapped around to find Moriarty back in the pool area, once again laughing. "Sorry, boys," he calls. "I'm sooo changeable!" He had whimsically decided that Sherlock "cannot be allowed to continue" and must die. When John sees Sherlock glance at him, all he can do is nod slightly, sadly, he's going to support Sherlock in any and every way even if it means he's going to die.

John watches as Sherlock aims his handgun at Moriarty, then lowers it pointing it directly at the explosive-rigged jacket now lying nearly at Moriarty's feet. He see's Sherlock hesitate for the first time since he'd met the man, he watched the look of complete defeat spread across Sherlock's face before he pulled the trigger causing the bomb to go off with a large boom.

When Sherlock awoke he realized he had merely hit his head and there was no major damage that he could. He then thought of John, who had been closer to the bomb by at least a foot. He searched around frantically, worried that the worst had happened before his sights finally fell upon the shorter man. He was completely still, laying on the hard ground of the cement pool, and it frightened Sherlock that he might lose John. That was until he seen the man twitch, and then open his eyes, Sherlocks heart filled with calmness, happiness, and joy at seeing the blonde alive.

The second blue eyes met green Sherlock was stumbling over to John, making sure he was alright in every aspect. "Does anything hurt, John?" Sherlock asked, but when John hesitated to reply back to Sherlock, he added "Come on, John, say something!" he was scared he'd hurt John.

"N-No," John stuttered. He'd never been this close to Sherlock Holmes before. The strange man is now a mere few inches from him and he found it hard to breath. When Sherlock gave him a once over all self control left him. He grabbed Sherlock's face and slammed their mouths together. He felt Sherlock relax against the kiss, humming in satisfaction. John thought back to the conversation at the restaurant overlooking 22 Northumberland Street, how Sherlock said he knew it would be okay if he had a boyfriend, but considered himself married to his job.

Sherlock pulled away first gasping for breath, bliss written clear as day across the young man's sculpted face. They both looked up, shocked as sirens blared right outside the now crumbling building. Cops, ambulances, fire trucks, and likely bomb squads where outside waiting, wanting to clear the scene and get the two men inside out to complete safety,

That didn't stop John from joking around with Sherlock."I thought you were married to the job," John teased as he tried to force his breathing back down to a normal rate. Still affected slightly by the kiss and slightly from nearly being blown to bits. Either way, he needed to calm down, both scenarios where over now.

"I am, but you're part of my job," Sherlock mumbled grinning, letting the words work their way into the deepest parts of Johns ears, letting him realize what the darker haired man had just said.. The smooth pickup line shot John's heart rate up yet again, nearly double the amount in which it should be, or so John felt. He smiled up at Sherlock who now held him in his lap, and crouched over him protectively, as though he'd stand between him and danger, keeping him safe from everything possible.

As the EMTS got inside, likely after being cleared by bomb squad, they pulled John and Sherlock apart, helping them individually to the awaiting ambulance. They inspected both parties before clearing them with minor scratches and releasing them to go home. It had been a crazy night, nothing like John and Sherlock's normal cases. Both men knew it wasn't over, and it wouldn't be over until Moriarty was caught.

As they left the crime scene, Sherlock wrapped his arm around Johns waist, pulling the shorter man to his side. He smiles at John, happy to still have the other man around. "Shall we go home?" Sherlock asked with a wink. Causing feelings to stir inside of John that he'd never felt for another man.

John let out a strangled, "please." making Sherlock laugh and let go. John watched as the near perfect man hailed a cab and they piled in. John had a problem trusting cabbies after the Pink Lady, he refused to get into them alone, but after the events of the night, he didn't think it would be much of a problem anymore.

"221b Baker Street please," Sherlock commanded the Cabbie. John watched every movement of his mouth, every twitch, finding more and more things to love about Sherlock in every single thing he noticed. When Sherlock caught him staring neither man said a word, but John watched in awe as Sherlock's face turned a interesting shade of red. As they rounded the corner to their street Sherlock winked at the last second before jumping out of the now stopped car and trekking the few feet to their door.

John watched as Sherlock disappeared through the door, and up the stairs. Smiling at the way Sherlock still hadn't changed. When John himself made it up the stairs he was greeted by Sherlock who had him pinned to the wall next to the door, and soon had their mouths slotted together. John moaned into the kiss, feeling his body begin to react to the highly sexual act in which they were performing.

John was about to take it a step further when Sherlock stepped back, mouth swollen and slightly bruised from the violent kissing. "We should go to bed," he gasped looking anywhere but at John. Upon closer inspection John noticed the tent Sherlock was pitching in his pants. He never knew Sherlock Holmes could even get turned on. John didn't have time to do anything else as Sherlock all but ran from room and down the hall. When John tried to see if he was okay, he realized Sherlock had locked the door to his bedroom. John shrugged and went to his own room upstairs.

"Goodnight, Sherlock!" He yelled before shutting his door. It had been an odd day for sure. Nothing like that had happened before, and it was likely to never happen again. John realized he liked Sherlock more than he should and he was actually okay with it, but Sherlock would never admit it to himself nor out loud, and John was okay with that as well. That's how they where.

I wrote this a few years ago, wanting to take a turn on my favorite episode of Sherlock so ta da, its finally been posted, after a LOT of editing. 

Word count: 1432


	2. The End Came Before The Beginning (Harry Potter)

Harry looked around his cupboard under the stairs. It was barely large enough for a bed and what little things he did have, yet he never complained. At least not out loud, not so his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, or even Dudley could hear. It was only even in his head, when the thoughts of how his life had turned out got to bad for him to remain optimistic, even if only for a short time. This was one of those times.

Harry always tried his hardest to look on the bright side of everything, but sometimes it was harder said than done. Sometimes he just wanted to have a normal life like every other kid on Private Drive in Little Whinging. Although, every time something turned good in his favor or he found a light in something small, like a ladybug landing on the windowsill, something bad would happen, like Uncle Vernon slamming his hand down atop the small creature ending its life abruptly. Over time, he slowly stopped trying to find the good in every little thing, kit took to much time, effort, and it took quite the imagination. Harry was almost 11 now, almost to old to dwindle on such small trivial details. His life was how it was, always has been, always will be.

He looked around taking note of every one of his possessions. Army men, a few of Dudleys old broken toys, a scarce amount of overly large hand-me-down clothes, and the dust bunnies collecting in the corners and under the bed. Harry looked around realizing how minimal his life was. Wake up, serve the Dursleys, Get beat up, picked on, pushed around, abused, go to bed in his Cupboard under the stairs. On repeat day after day.

It was just his luck his parents would die in a car crash, before he could have any happy memories with them. Or any happy memories at all. All Harry can remember is the bad. Aunt Petunia beating him with a wooden spoon before sending him to his cupboard without food every time he burnt something in the kitchen. Or Dudley beating him up, then blaming Harry for starting it. The worst of it all was Uncle Vernon sneaking into Harry's cupboard whenever Aunt Petunia and Dudley was away.

The things Uncle Vernon did to Harry was unspeakable. Making Harry suck him off, or touching the small boy as if Harry we're his to touch. Once he had done whatever act he pleased he would threaten Harry. It was often to locking him in the cupboard, or to starve him, or worst of all in Harry's opinion was to keep him home from school. For school was the only place he could go to get away, even if for only 8 hours a day. It was something, and something, regardless of how small, would do. Harry looked forward to school, unlike any other kid alive. It was his safe space his get away, keeping him home was the worst thing, in Harry's opinion, The Dursleys could do.

Far to engrossed in his thoughts, Harry didn't hear his Aunt Petunia yelling for him. When he was finally pulled from his thoughts it was to her dragging him out of the small cupboard by his ear. Yelling and screaming at him the whole way, she dragged him into the kitchen demanding him to make the food. Although, do to his lack of listening, and the small fact that he burnt two or three strips of bacon, he was to return to his cupboard with no supper and to not come out until supper the following night. He would usually sneak out once he knew the Dursleys where fully asleep, get food, use the restroom, but tonight was a rare night, tonight was one of the nights they locked his cupboard.

Following orders without a complaint is something Harry learned to do long ago. When he was first stuck with the Dursleys. Don't ask questions, and don't complain or hesitate when given an order. It would only make matters worse, far worse. When they say jump ask how high, don't mumble or slouch, follow commands, yes sir, no sir. Don't defend yourself take it, it'll make it easier in the long run, and maybe if your lucky they will show you some mercy.

Harry could smell dinner from the cupboard, laying on his small bed stating up at the plain, slanted ceiling. The young boy knew not what he had done all those years ago to deserve such treatment, in fact he hadn't done a thing. That is just the way the Dursleys where, they where in fact horrible people.

This was all young Harry had ever know, rejection, heartache, and hatred. He always thought it was him, he thought he was doing something wrong, that he was something wrong. A burden, a pest, something no one wanted, he truly thought it was his fault he was treated the way he was. It was never his fault, he just had the monumental misfortune of being stuck with some of the cruelest people in England.

Every night the raven haired boy thought upon his place and his worth in this world, and every night he came up with less and less things to keep him here. Each and every day Harry's will to live sunk lower and lower. Not seeing a point in fighting for a life in a world that fought him every step of the way. One Day in December, Harry's will to fight ceased to exist, and that night Harry Potter ceased to exist. The world never knew the great things Harry Potter could and would have done if only it wouldn't have buried him before he could come to realize his potential. Hogwarts, the wizarding world, not even Harry seen his true potential. 

Word Count: 978


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